#randomwrites

[rnacreative]

The rain pelts swiftly against the window. She remembers where she was a year ago. As if the sky has opened up to mourn the past with her.

The end of a relationship. The end of a different time.

She knows it was for the best, but she can always recognize how much work it was to get to where she is.

She turned 30 only to have it ruined after the most relaxing vacation and time away. Sinking into herself, her 30s were already off to a great start. The rain knows those tears shed.

Work and being harassed by an ex, what else to add?

A new diagnosis and struggle with mental health.

There is always something about this time of year that leads to such introspection.

Breakups, moves, drama, car issues, her thrice removed ex for being suicidal and staying on suicide watch, or stuck living in a fake family who thrived on secrets. The list grows with each passing year, but as the list grows, so does she.

No matter the journey or drama, she somehow pulls herself from the rubble, finding a path forward. It's a feat of wonder that leaves her to believe she can do anything she sets her mind to.

The path forward is one of dreams she hopes to give herself. As life hasn't been easy, and while she's empathetic, she's consciously aware.

Just what awaits her past the rainy gray skies? Will it get better or continue to be a rollercoaster?

The rain knows.

[estrellita-wrights]

"Not for money, not for views, not for anyone but myself."

I am Mayo, whom you may know from my previous writing account turned roleplay blog, @/twistedtalking. Feel free to request twst stuff here! But also, it wont just be twst. There'll also be original stories, and the fics will be tagged appropriately, so you can jump straight to the twst fics. Tags are (#twst platonic, #twst x reader, #tbttu (original story), #randomwrites) Tags will be added as the number of original stories increase.

Table of Contents

-Twisted wonderland Fanfics (Asks open, but I can reject)

-My Stories (The Bonds That Tie Us, A Regular Fantasy Harem, etc.)

-Random writing (writing prompts or otherwise)

Asking Rules

There are three different flavors you could ask for in writing twst fics! Canon-compliant, Romantic, and Yandere. Please specify which type you want in the fic.

I have simple boundaries, which are, please respect my religion (Christianity/Born Again) while on my blog, and that's all right now whoops.

Minors welcome here. I've seen lots of yandere fic blogs that say minor dni, and as a teenager who hasn't yet reached her debut, I feel super sad about it. So yeah, minors welcome!

DNI LIST

○Those with church/religious trauma, specifically Christianity. More for you than me, since I add bible verses to each of my posts. Feel free to block!

○ Those who are rude about Christ in my blog. My God is very important to me, so if you got something to say, don't say it here. Or I'll block you.

You now know everything you need to know to ask/request! Now, personal stuff! About me, the one running this thing!

My alias is Mayo! I am a binibini (maiden) from the Philippines! I am currently a not-yet 18 year old. I am quite excited about my debut ngl.

Other than Twst, I am very fond of manga! I've read tbhk and wotakoi! I'm also excited for "The flower that blooms with dignity" anime adaptation! I also love musicals, like Six and Hamilton. Very excited for Epic the Musical's release too! (I also code)

Outside of tumblr, I am a high-school student (middle school, by Japan's standards), who wants to spread the word of God! That's why I add bible verses on each of my posts! My dream is to one day be a Voice Actor in America, while also doing accountant work. I also one day want to live in Japan!

My main account on tumblr is called @/everydaytwstsimp. Its mainly for reblogs though. I also have @/twistedtalking, which is my twst roleplaying account, where I roleplay as most of the students. (More info on that account's pinned post).

[randomwriting-misc]

See How It Shines

Astarion has a plan, a practical, life-saving scheme. He doesn't need the realization that the druid traveling with him is unlike anyone he has met before. In which Astarion has feelings for the first time Inspired by Hozier's Abstract (Psychopomp) Astarion x Drow Druid!Tav 935 words I headcanon her as a circle of stars even though that is not available in BG3

TW: Animal Death, slight, tiny tiny Act I spoilers

“What are you doing?” Gale shouts as they watch their party Druid gasp and run towards the sound of an animal yipping. She doesn’t answer as she moves with a speed Astarion has only seen in the heat of battle. They all pick up the pace to follow behind but are stopped in their tracks by the troubling image in front of them.

Astarion watches her lean down over the creature, the scent of blood and gore thick in the heated air. It’s overwhelming to his senses as he holds back a gag at the putrid scene, but it doesn’t seem to even register to the Drow. The hyena was panting, eyes wide and frantic looking at her in confusion. She shushes the animal, and with a calming voice, begins to speak.

What is she doing? Is she crazy? He knew teaming up with a Druid would come back to bite him, no matter how easy it was to work his charms on nature lovers with their heads in the cloud.

“It’s okay darling, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” she coos, slowly petting its head. The tell-tale tingle of magic surrounds him as he sees a soft glow emitting from her palm, and the tension in the animal's body releases as it leans its snout into her hand. It finally hits Astarion, the realization of what is occurring here, the smell, the blood, and the carnage. Gnolls had savaged their way through what looked to be a caravan of merchants.

“We need to leave! Gnolls could be around any corner,” he hisses, his fellow companions sucking in a sharp breath of air, but the little Druid makes no move to leave. Instead, she holds her hand up, as if to signal them all to stop. He doesn’t know when she became such a force within the group, but her presence was commanding, and everyone froze.

Never in a thousand lifetimes could Astarion predict the actions of the odd elf next. She sat on the blood-soaked ground, unfazed, as she rests the creatures head in her lap. It’s gentle, so gentle that Astarion can’t remember a time he’s seen something cared for so delicately. Then, the Druid starts to hum. It’s an unfamiliar tune, probably something from the Underdark. It’s whimsical and a little haunting in its cadence.

Astarion realizes he has been holding his breath, a lump forming in his throat. He would have killed the creature. A gnoll ripping out from its body would have been a gruesome nuisance. It would have been a mercy. He’s never seen mercy like this, comforting, safe, and so incredibly sad. Why is he suddenly so overwhelmed with his own sadness? Why is she treating such a disturbing creature with such… compassion?

She continues to pet the wounded animal, its fate sealed long before the party stumbled upon the scene. Its eyes are closed, breathing soft and even as she continues to hum. He notices her eyes are closed now too, with a furrowed brow and slightly scrunched nose as she sways back and forth, rocking the animal to its final sleep.

All the companions are still, watching something so intimate feels like an intrusion. It’s as if the Druid is saying goodbye to her familiar, not a random hyena found on the side of the road moments before.

Astarion notices things about her he’s only noticed in passing before, but it’s as if he is really seeing her for the first time. Her hair, he thought it was black, but he can see where the sun hits her that it’s a deep blue. It’s falls down her back in loose waves, swaying back and forth with her movement. She has freckles forming on her shoulders and across her nose and cheekbones, unusual for a Drow, but emphasizing the time she has spent in the sun, potentially hurting herself in her goal of helping others. Her skin, pale and scarred, looks soft and smooth under his gaze. He thought it was strange a Drow could be as white as him, but she’s not. Her skin is a pale purple.

She is graceful. She’s beautiful.

Astarion hasn’t found anything beautiful in quite a long time. He doesn’t know what to do with these emotions, how to keep playing this flirtatious game of manipulation. Was it even working? Were the soft smiles he read as bashful really just her placating his advances? Druids are wise, despite their carefree lifestyle, he had forgotten that it seems.

A tear falls down her face as the hyena takes its final breath, slow and soft, before going limp in her arms.

“May Eilistraee guide you to peace,” she whispers, a tear falling off her cheek to the animal. Taking a moment, she lays its head down, and flowers appear around the body. Standing, she sniffs, before rolling her shoulders back and standing straight. Her gaze hardens as she reaches for the weapon her side.

“Let’s go deal with these creatures before they take any more lives.”

Her demeanor has shifted completely, her once kind eyes now set on vengeance. Revenge. Standing up to fix the unbalance created here, to bring justice to these animals who cannot do it themselves.

Astarion thinks he would follow her anywhere.

The thought is quickly shaken away with a feeling of dread in his gut, no. He has too much going on, avoid Cazador, avoid growing tentacles, and gain unprecedented power. There’s no room for a kindhearted druid with stars in her shining purple eyes to distract him.

When did he notice the color of her eyes?

[captainwolf]

Second star to the right

|| Captain Hook x g/n reader

Trigger warnings: n/a

Theme: Angst/fluff/nonsense/

The moonlit waters were calm as the vast ship nestled on the surface. Mermaids danced and splashed nearby the shore, for every time the water was lit by the moon they would stir. Your hand caressed the smooth wooden railing of the jolly roger as you looked up at the night sky. The dark sky was peppered with bright twinkling stars. Your gaze was entranced by the second bright star to the right in the night sky.

You let out a sigh as all the tension in your body seemed to vanish with it. It had been a stressful adventure as of late. What with pan with the lost boys teasing Hook and the redskins chasing off the pirates went plundering. The seas quietness this night seemed to bring a tranquil wave over the crew. You hadn’t been in Neverland long but it was much needed.

“Say, what does me hearty think?” Came a familiar voice from behind. It was the captain himself. Hook.

You shivered as cold metal lightly brushed up the side of your neck and trailed across your jaw. It was his signature claw. Turning your head slightly, the sharp point of the hook lightly dug into your skin. Your gaze slowly lifted up to meet the captains bright blue forget-me-nots.

“Aye, I seem to have forgotten.” You answered honestly. “Remind me once more.”

Looking down at you, the captain tilted his head slightly in confusion as he lowered his hook. His mouth opened slightly as if to speak only to close again with no words being spoken. Instead, the pirate captain swiftly leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. It was quick yet the feeling of his soft lips on yours seemed to linger for what seemed like forever.

You stood, frozen from shock, before blinking and snapping back to reality. In a blur, a swift hand was raised and struck the captain across the face. It took a moment for you to realize that it was your hand.

Hook just stared down at you as tears brimmed your eyes. You asked him to make you remember. And he did.

A wave of mixed feeling came over you as you turned away from him. Hands grasping the railing of the ship to steading yourself, you leaned over it and sobbed. You were looking up at the stars, the second one to the right to be precise, thinking about your lost loved one before Hook showed up and how you wished they were beside you to see the beauty of Neverland.

“Oh my darling..,” the pirate whispered, reaching over to gently pull you into an embrace. His sudden sympathetic tone caught you off guard for a split second.

This was Hook! The scary man all lost boys told stories about! The fearsome Captain that barked orders at the scurvy crew and cut down anyone who disobeyed them with his hook. But the thought quickly passed as you turned without hesitation towards him, burying your head into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. Muffled sobs could be faintly heard as you tightened your grip around the man’s waist.

He just stood, quietly shushing you. The pirate’s hook carefully pointed down as his other arm held you close to him. His hand gently petting your head while whispering soothing words.

Finally when you had calmed down enough, you broke the embrace. You looked up at him and noticed a few tears in the captain’s shimmering blue eyes.

“A-are you alright?” You asked, slightly pulling away to get a better look at the man. He nodded with a reassuring smile before letting you go.

Hook walked over to the stairs and went up to the helm. He stood with his back to you as he gazed out at the calm sea. You stood watching him as thoughts ran through your head as you why the captain suddenly seemed to let his guard down.

The breeze in the air was chill and seemed to awaken the ship whenever it would pass by. The wooden boards creaked as the lines and canvases of the masses danced.

Curiously, you followed to where he was and sat at the top of the stair. You just felt the need to be near him at this point. After a long moments silence, you heard the sound of his heavy boots growing closer. You glanced up to see him standing next you.

“May I?” He asked.

You nodded and he sat down next to you on the stairs.

[readersmagnet]

Catherine Shelby Hale's "Stories by Grammygirl", "The Dinosaur Throat", "Remember Me", and "Random Writings" offer heartwarming moral stories for children that teach important life lessons. From imaginative tales of dinosaurs to touching reflections on memory and kindness, Hale’s stories captivate young readers while encouraging empathy and good values.

Explore her inspiring collection at https://www.storiesbygrammygirl.com/book/.

[ao3feed-johnlock]

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/zkDg4NE

by Randomwriter_hi

Sherlock loves John but does he know that? Does he even know what love is? Does John love him back? Are they gay for each other? They should be...

Words: 3210, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: John Watson, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes), (martin freeman), Sherlock Holmes, (benedict cumberbatch), Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes

Relationships: Johnlock, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

Additional Tags: its gay, Fluff, smut?, Johnlock is canon, John and Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock is mentally unstable, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, John is bi, John Watson is a Good Friend, haha - Freeform, im dead, i think, this, Author Is Sleep Deprived, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, i think you might cry, I will, Im emotionally andmentally unstable

April 09, 2023 at 06:30PM

[maestroeternal]

I try to make Tuesday’s the days where I spent some time, even if it’s just a little time, writing. Some of you may already know this but I started a random writing blog about a year ago and have been keeping up with it as a fun creative project for myself ever since. It’s been a cathartic experience for me since I’ve always loved writing. And I’m a pretty broody artist as well who needs an outlet for a lot of my thoughts that sometimes isn’t just musical. So it’s been really good for me in this since too! Haha. The blog is just tons of dark, thought-provoking type prose, poems, haiku’s, random thoughts, etc. Lol. I have a goal of publishing a short collection of my haiku’s sometime this year once I write enough to make a little chapbook or something similar. We’ll see what happens. Lol. Anyways, this isn’t a promo for it by any means. Just kind of talking about how some of my Tuesday has been going and even though I’ve had a long week already and I’ve had a lot going on other than this today, it’s really nice whenever I can stick to my own goals and make things happen 🙌 I do have my blog linked in my bio under “writing blog” so if any of you feel like checking it out, feel free! I just posted a new poem today ✌️💻✨ . . . . . . . . . . . . #musiciansofinstagram #wordpress #analogvibes #wordpressblogger #wordpressblog #keyboard #studiovibes #atx #atxartist #musicstudio #synthesizer #inthestudio #tuesdaythoughts #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #moogdfam #artistlife #randomwriting #cinematicsynthwave #maestroeternal #electronicmusic #synthjam #poetsofinstagram #poetrylovers #composersofinstagram #composerlife #electronicmusician #audioengineer #synthvibes (at Austin, Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnP0ncZvvGP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[auraspoetry]

Friday, 8. November 2024

It was the day that I saw the world from your eyes, that's when I stopped loving myself. I got a taste of your world, I scrunch my nose by the third sip and I choked by the fifth. I was starving for my world that went missing in the fog of yours. I lost the hunger to get my world back. Who am I at this point. You painted me so well with your brush, you took all credit for my being. All that I was, I only started being once you began existing in my mind. I wish I could say it was a beautiful beginning, all blooming flowers and sunshine to begin with, and then it took a bad turn. Although, I walked into a withered garden from the start of it all, and I tried to convince myself of its stagnant beauty, of its lifeless state. I found one blooming flower, every now and then it would open up just a bit more. I believed that with the right care and with enough time, the garden would blossom to fit my imagination. Flashing images. I imagine. I imagine. Seasons passed, one by one. I could say the garden got worse, though I am not sure it changed. At least I've got my flower — I look into my hand.   Too late, I realise I had been holding onto it for too long, I had suffocated it. Too late, I realise what I had always known — the soil was dead and nothing could grow. Too slow, I am still learning to accept my reality, things happened — destined? or not.. they happened. I can only walk for today. Yesterday is framed in time, and I am moving, for now I am still walking. Paths will change and so can my pace. No matter, keep walking.

[nathangardner-thealterego]

A pianist, alone, scared, afraid, and with no meaning, no purpose.

So he sits down and starts to write until he finds it. His final piece. Final cry out to humanity.

He has forgotten how to be happy. How to enjoy life.

And now he has nothing, but music.

[steamatfive]

I honestly don’t remember writing this

This entire book was just a dream as far as I’m aware.

[rnacreative]

She sat on the balcony railing, looking off into the distance in the pale moonlight. The moon was illuminating the trees and city lights in the distance. Quietness.

Silence.

There was something missing, or someone rather. A missing warmth, a touch.

"Why are you out here alone?" A voice asks, one she dreamed up.

"I'm always alone. But it's not such a bad thing. The night is beautiful like this," she muses quietly, aloud to herself, looking up toward the stars above.

"Indeed, she is," the voice, getting closer now.

"Why are you here?" She asks, humoring herself.

"To keep you company, of course."

She smiles before frowning. She couldn't do this again.

"You're not even real," she sighs, the heartache settling in deep, an ache she'll always cling to. It somehow reminds her that she's still alive. Still experiencing enough to create something from nothing.

"I can be as real as you want me to be," the voice claims.

"You're another story in my head..."

The voice is right behind her now.

"It doesn't have to be," it whispers.

A small smile begins to form, and she says nothing else. Basking in the moonlight, it's minutes later when she turns around.

Reality sets in at the darkness behind her and no one is there.

"See," she whispers to herself, turning around, "In my head... It's only me here. You'll always be another story to write."

The daydreaming part of her begged to differ, that inner romantic.

Does it have to be another story?

[randomartistlmao]

"That's why I got my motto." Vivian just stared blankly at the clouds.

"Nothin' good really lasts."

Pepper sighed. She never was good at comforting people. But that doesn't mean she shouldn't at least try.

"Well, I think it comes in cycles."

Vivian looked back at her. "How so?"

"I mean. We met, right? You leaving must've been shitty, but we couldn't have met unless you did. Means sometimes it gets better, right?"

Vivian snickered a little. Pepper didn't understand what was so funny.

"Yeah. Thats true." Vivian gently put her arm over Pepper's shoulder. She leaned in without resistance.

They just watched the sun fade.

*Oh. She's never done this before. Maybe I should say something,* Pepper thought.

*I usually don't let people touch me. But for some reason...

I don't mind when its her.*

Pepper's tears fell onto the photograph. "Pepper! Pepper? You good?" Nateyo began yelling from downstairs. She realized she's been in bed for a lot longer than she thought.

Maybe she was right.

[randomlifeunit]

[randomwriting-misc]

hi! do u think you'll ever go back to writing endangered? It was my favorite story and i really miss the updates

Hi!

Thank you for the love for Endangered. I really love the story and do plan to continue and finish it. School and life just kind of took hold.

A little bit of a life update, but my grandmother passed away right after Christmas, and my aunt is disabled, so her care is now my and my fathers responsibility. Things are started to calm down now and find a new normal soI have time to write finally.

I may need to rewatch the movies to get back on track of the plot, but I am excited to post soon.

I really appreciate everyone’s patience and kind words I’ve received since starting this, it means the world ❤️

[fhdjsjmz]

Sunsets and past

Sunsets and past

I looked over the ocean as the sea waved goodbye to the shore and went to meet the sky.

Horizon; where the sky meets the sun but where was our horizon? You were the sky and I was the sea but there wasn’t a horizon in sight. 

The sun found its way down to meet the sea, pulled down by guilt; drowning. The sun was so in love with the sea that the drowning was pleasant, it was beauty. Well, in love even the mightiest beings do anything to be with who they want whether it being drowning or falling.

I looked and yet again thinking if you so dearly loved me why would you not do anything to forgive me? If the sun can drown to meet the sea why can’t you overlooked some of my flaws? If you were so in love as you claimed to be why did you just let go of me? Why did you not forgive me.

A tear rolled down my cheek and fell on the sand which was thirsty for love. It was dry, wanting to be soaked by the love of the sea. But the water that the sea provided was only enough to satisfy the shore not the wide stretches of sand. Maybe the sea tried to reach all of the sand but couldn’t because it’s true love was always the sky.

Maybe I was just the sand to your sea while you waited for your sky. 

Sand and sky were both infinite. They cant be measured but they can be felt. But yet the sea chose the sky this time. 

Drowning sun,

Thirsty sand.

Both abandoned by the sea

Who was in love with the sky. 

[brewsterispunkk]

TAGLIST REBLOG:

@jc-writes-bullshit , @imaginethatneathuh , @salome-c , @sarcasm-n-imsomnia, @randomwriting-misc , @paintlavillered , @tanzthompson , @torchbearerkyle , @xaestheticalien , @palefuckinghost , @mermaidxatxheart , @tryonmyworld, @woofgocows , @chloeforde , @a3trogirl , @hot-mess-express1 , @aduckinpain , @hawsx3 , @igotmajordaddyissues

sunshine state

PART TEN: ALWAYS THERE

paring: benny miller x reader, benny miller x f!reader

WC: 5.1k

warnings: grief, sibling fights, idiots in love

summary: papa’s funeral, and what follows

A/N: only two more chaps after this !! if you’ve stuck around this long, ily :,) this may be my fav chapter i’ve written yet. lmk your thoughts.

PART TEN: ALWAYS THERE

You didn’t ask him in the morning.

By the time the sun peeked through the blinds in your childhood bedroom at dawn, you’d lost all the nerve you’d had the night before.

You’d woken up warm, despite how freezing your parents always kept the house.

Benny’s legs were tangled with yours as he spooned you. You’d been laying on your back, nose buried in his hair, his head nuzzled into your shoulder.

You sighed when the events of the nights before entered your mind.

Goddamn him, you thought.

No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t quit him. You doubted you ever would be able to. You’d be there until he didn’t want you there anymore.

That thought alone made your stomach drop. You didn’t know what you’d do if Benny all of a sudden decided that this whole thing you had wasn’t worth it.

You’d survive it, barely. You always did. But still, he’d ruined anyone else for you. That much you were sure of.

Blinking, you looked over to your closet, where the black dress hung on the door. Your heart lurched, and you all of a sudden felt guilty.

Of course, you thought. The funeral was today.

How could you have forgotten? You felt selfish–as selfish as your mother made you feel—and for a second you believed all she’d said to you that night at Frankie’s when you’d missed the family dinner.

You’d been so wrapped up in Benny that you’d nearly forgotten the funeral.

Wordlessly, you untangled yourself from Benny and crept toward your door. You didn’t want to complicate this any more than it already was.

- - - -

You should’ve known your father would already be up when you entered the kitchen. He always was the first one awake of your family and had been as long as you could remember. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a book and a mug of coffee when you saw him.

He raised an eyebrow at you as you made your way to the coffee-pot. That was one of the best things about being home—coffee was always ready when you woke up.

After fixing yourself a mug, you sat across from your father and began reading the newspaper that was sitting there. Your parents still had the paper delivered.

Wordlessly, your father sat his book down and stared at you.

“What?” You asked after a moment, not turning from your paper.

“When are you going to stop torturing yourself?” He asked and you started.

Your eyes snapped up to his as he raised his mug to his lips.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The trundle in the basement was empty this morning,” he said, opening his book back up.

You balked at him, mouth falling open for a moment. Your father was like this: never coming out with what he wanted to say. Normally you had the energy for it, but not today.

“He,” you cleared your throat. “Benny has trouble sleeping sometimes. PTSD. Usually his brother helps him with it, but. Well, I’m the one here.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “And I suppose that’s why your bed was empty yesterday too.”

Shit, you thought. You should’ve known your dad wouldn’t buy it. He always knew when you were telling a half-truth.

“Dad—”

“I’m happy for you,” he held out a hand to stop you. “But I wish you would just let yourself be happy.”

“I am happy,” you said defensively.

“Are you?” He raised his eyebrow again.

You sighed.

“Look, sweetheart,” he said. “You love him. And that boy obviously loves you, so why–”

“He doesn’t,” you frowned.

Your father laughed.

“A blind man could see it.”

“You’re wrong,” you said with more hostility than you’d meant.

“Baby,” he said in that fatherly way he perfected. “Why else would he be crawling into your bed at night? Why else would he be here?”

“I don’t know!” You burst. “It’s… complicated. But no. He’s not in love with me.”

“Sis–”

“Can we please just drop it?” you blinked away tears.

This was all too much. You couldn’t handle it. You just wanted to bury your Papa, lay him to rest. You could deal with all this after that.

“Sure, baby.” Your father’s hand squeezed yours and you both went back to reading.

Your father’s words echoed in your head though.

Why else would he be here?

You didn’t know. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. Half of the boyfriends you’d had wouldn’t have done half of what Benny had done for you. But he didn’t feel that way about you—if he did, he would’ve said something by now. He would’ve made a move.

You’d shown him the worst, most vulnerable parts of you and still, here he was. Why? What did he get out of this?

- - - -

The funeral was bleak. That much was expected. What wasn’t expected was the onslaught of emotions that it brought with it.

Growing up, all yours and Quinn’s summers were spent at your Papa’s. You’d spend hours outside, barefoot and half-wild in the sprawling land behind his house. He’d feed you cherry tomatoes from his garden, and on Fridays you’d watch Westerns on channel 6. He notoriously took too many pictures and gave you sweets before dinner. And now, he was gone.

You hadn’t fully processed it until you saw the casket covered in ugly yellow roses. You stopped when you saw them.

Benny stopped beside you as you entered the chapel of the church. He came to stand in front of you, and the white of the dress-shirt he was wearing replaces the garish yellow flowers. He tilted your chin up.

“What is it?” He asked. You peeked over his shoulder at the casket.

“He hated yellow,” you said flatly. “And roses.”

“Oh honey,” he said softly, arms wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you to his chest in a hug.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, squeezing you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed. You’d always hated when people said that–told you that it was “okay” when it clearly wasn’t. You didn’t mind when Benny did it.

You nosed into his suit jacket. You hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him how handsome he looked before you left the house that morning. He looked so good it was criminal.

You took a big breath as you pulled back, blinking back a few tears. You shook your head to snap yourself out of it.

Benny gave you a half-smile and tapped your chin as you did.

“It was fucking Jeannette who was in charge of the flowers.” You grumbled as your eyes found your aunt, who was talking to the preacher who was officiating the funeral. “Of fucking course it was.”

Benny looked over his shoulder at Jeannette.

“She’s lucky this is a funeral,” you continued. “I could kill her.”

Benny chuckled, grabbing your hand and leading you further into the chapel toward where the rest of your family was starting to congregate.

“Wanna sit?” He asked. You shook your eyes, catching Leda, Rosie, and Joy sitting in a pew a few rows from the front.

“I want to say hi to the girls first,” you said. Benny squeezed your hand.

“Ok, honey.”

Rosie’s hug nearly made you cry. She had that kind of effect on people; her hugs felt like home. Usually they didn’t evoke such a reaction out of you, but today was different. You blinked away more tears as you pulled away, silently wishing you hadn’t worn mascara today.

“Hey, sweetie,” she softly said.

“Thank you guys for coming,” you said, voice watery.

“Of course we came,” Rosie shushed you.

Joy was close behind her, hugging for a moment too long. She always waited for you to pull back first. Leda handed you a Hershey’s bar and squeezed your hand.

“I brought you some chocolate,” she said, and for some reason, that’s what made you break.

You heaved out a sob as the tears came, and without thinking, you curled into Benny, whose arm was already at your back.

“Shh, shh, shh,” his lips were at your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Leda said, sounding panicked. You sniffed, facing them again.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, hating how weak your voice sounded. “It’s just–that’s so nice. Thank you.”

“Here, hon.” Joy handed you her water bottle and you gladly took it.

After taking a long sip, you handed it back to her, but she shook her head.

“Keep it,” she said.

You thanked her. You’d read somewhere once that you couldn’t cry and swallow at the same time. Hopefully, the water would help keep the tears at bay until you read your eulogy.

Rosie checked her watch.

“It’s supposed to start in a few minutes,” she said gently. “You all should get to your seats.”

You nodded, grabbing Benny’s hand and pulling him with you as you made your way to the front. Just before you made it to your seats, he stopped you.

“Honey,” he said. “Do you want me to go sit with your friends? The front is just for family, and—”

“No.” You held his hand tighter, stepping closer to him subconsciously at the mention of him sitting somewhere else. You coughed, realizing how possessive you sounded.

“Uhm,” you corrected yourself. “Could you sit with me? I’d like you beside me.”

Your cheeks heated up at how pathetic you thought you sounded, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not today. If there was ever a time you needed Benny to stand beside you, it was today.

“‘Course, honey,” he squeezed your hand back, twice, like a heartbeat. “Let’s do this.”

You sighed and let him lead you to your seats by your parents. You silently thanked your father for saving two seats beside him: one for you and one for Benny. You ignored the curious looks your aunts gave you as you made your way to the seats, as well as the smug smirk Quinn threw your way. You didn’t have time for it.

As you sat, Benny let go of your hand to put his arm around your shoulder. You leaned into him like a tree to the wind.

- - - -

“Kids, I have some things here that you two can go through. Just some clothes and knick knacks of Papa’s,” your mother’s voice interrupted Benny’s story.

He’d been telling you about something Santi had done when they were overseas, taking your mind away from the morbidity of the afternoon.

The lunch after the funeral was at your Aunt Julie’s house.

She’d had it catered, and you silently thanked whoever had made that decision. If your grandmother had cooked like she always did, you would’ve lost it, you were sure.

The whole extended family gathered there in Julie’s living room. She had the largest of all of your familys’ houses, so her place was the natural decision. It was also where your grandmother brought your grandfather’s things.

“Okay,” you sighed, getting up to follow your mother back to the bedroom where the stuff was.

Benny gave you a questioning look.

“Want me to go with you?” He asked, eyebrows raised. You smiled and shook your head.

“No, it’s okay.”

Quinn entered the room a moment after you, his facial expression bored.

“Alright, what do we have?” He asked and you suppressed an eye-roll.

Of course all he’d care about was the stuff.

As you peeked into the cardboard box that held your Papa’s things, you dug your fingernails into your palms. Your eyes watered, and you felt like you’d been hit square in the chest.

Inside, you could see them: the things that were him, that were Papa.

You thought for a moment that whoever put them together had done so on purpose—that they knew exactly what they were doing.

There were maps, neatly folded, there were a few of his worn-in flannels, the leather jacket he always let you wear, the compass he taught you to use when you were nine. Your heart clenched.

“Grandma said that these were the things he’d want you two to have,” your mom said from the door. “I figured now is as good a time as ever for you to go through them.”

“Alright,” you said.

Wordlessly, your brother reached into the box and pulled out a dusty tome, a well-read book about World War 2.

Unsurprising, you thought. The two had always bonded over their shared love for military history.

As he flipped through the pages, you reached into the box and pulled out the heavy leather jacket.

The smell of the warm leather met your nose abd you closed your eyes and sighed. That scent brought you back; all of a sudden, you were eight-years-old again, half wild and free. Quinn’s voice snapped you out of it.

“You can’t have that.” His voice was sharp.

“What? Why? I always loved this jacket.”

You heard your mother sigh in frustration from the door.

“So? I did too. How come you get it?”

“Quinn, you never even wore it, I always—”

“Bullshit!” He burst, voice raising an octave.

You felt tears prick your eyes, not out of offense or sadness, but because of frustration. Why did he have to make everything a fight? It had always been exhausting, but now it was unbearable, especially on a day like today.

“Can’t I have just this one thing, Quinn? Papa’s gone, and–”

“And you weren’t even here!”

“Neither were you!”

“At least I knew he was sick!” He glared at you, knowing exactly how it would pierce you.

“No one told me!”

“That’s enough!” Your mother’s booming voice made both you and your brother fall silent. “Both of you!”

“Sorry, mom.” Quinn said flatly, still glaring at you.

Your mom leveled her gaze on you and said your name flatly.

“Please, for one day, can you quit it with the drama? Just for today, save it,” she pursed her lips pointedly, before turning on her heel and exiting the room.

“Hm,” Quinn snorted, before following her out, your Papa’s leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

You took a moment to collect yourself after they left, hurriedly wiping tears off of your cheeks.

After, you reached into the box and picked up the worn brass compass.

It was scratched and tarnished, but its face was smooth and told of years of experience. This compass had gone everywhere with him; to Korea, and then to Vietnam, and on every camping and fishing trip after that.

You smoothed your thumb over the face and wiped your face.

Okay. Okay. You could do this. You had to.

When you returned to your table, Benny was shoveling a spoonful of your Aunt Tanya’s mac n cheese into his mouth. He listened animatedly to what your cousin was saying across from him until he felt your presence. When he looked at you, his face dropped.

Swallowing his mac n cheese, he stood up to meet you.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

You shook your head and sniffed.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Shit, I do?” You clapped your hands over your cheeks. “Dammit.”

“Here,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, steering you toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you some coffee.”

You sighed and nodded.

When you reached the kitchen, Benny wordlessly prepared you a cup of coffee. You leaned against the counter, exhaling deeply and patting your cheeks, willing them to go back to normal.

“Here, try this.” Benny handed you the cup of coffee.

You took a sip, humming. He prepared it exactly how you liked it, as always.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on now?”

You sighed again.

“It’s just my brother.”

“What’s new.”

“Hey,” you smacked Bennys shoulder half-heartedly, laughing.

“It was the jacket,” you continued. “It was my favorite. Papa always let me wear it. And when I grabbed it, Quinn freaked out. He doesn’t even like leather. It’s just another way for him to get at me.”

“Did you get the jacket?”

You shook your head.

“And then my mom,” your voice wobbled.

Wordlessly, Benny pulled you into his chest, his arms bracketing around your shoulders.

“Shh, shh, honey,” he soothed. “It’s okay. Wanna go? We can go.”

You pulled back, wiping your eyes.

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’ve gotta stick this one out. For Papa, at the very least.”

“Okay,” Benny agreed skeptically. “But if he tries anything—“

“I’ll be fine, Ben.” You smoothed your hands down his lapels, looking at him fondly.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing in front of the best thing to ever happen to you. You also couldn’t shake the feeling that he would slip through your fingers.

- - - -

You almost made it through the rest of the meal without a hitch—until Quinn decided to open his stupid mouth.

It was after dessert, when everyone was drinking coffee and making up excuses to stay for another cup. Kids were asleep in armchairs and guestrooms, and teens waited impatiently in front of the T.V. for their parents to leave. That was something you always loved about your family; There was always more to talk about.

You’d been sipping your coffee and talking to your aunts about Papa—some story from his time in Vietnam—when your cousin Monica changed the subject.

“It just happened so fast,” she said, staring off into space with a melancholy expression.

“It did,” Joyce said. “We hardly had time to tell everyone that he was sick before he passed.”

“I only found out hours before,” added your other cousin, Pete.

“I didn’t even hear he was in the hospital until it was too late,” you said, and Benny squeezed your knee under the table.

You looked over at him, and found his eyes trained on you, soft. You smiled back, covering his hand with yours.

Quinn’s scoff snapped your attention away.

“Wonder why that is,” he said from where he was sitting across from you.

You thought you heard your mother, who was sat behind him, inhale sharply. You stiffened and felt Benny’s hand tighten on your knee.

“Excuse me?” Your voice was tight.

You were at the end of your rope; your eyes ached, your throat was sore, and you were exhausted. The funeral and the argument with your brother had taken it out of you. Now, you were reaching your limit.

In hindsight, you should’ve seen it coming. Quinn always pounced whenever you showed even a little bit of vulnerability. He waited til you were exhausted, and then he’d dig in the knife and twist.

“You heard me,” Quinn leveled his gaze at you. “Where were you when Papa got sick?”

“I was at work, and no one thought to message me—”

“I was working too, and I still picked up the phone. I always pick up the phone when mom calls.”

“What, do you want an award?” Your voice raised.

“God, you are such a selfish bitch—”

“Oh boo fucking hoo, Quinn! I’m so sorry I was asleep when Papa died—”

“No! You were too busy fucking some guy in bum-fuck nowhere to be there for your family!”

That stopped you in your tracks.

“That is enough, Quinn!” Your mother stood up, face red. “Take a walk.”

“But–”

“Take a walk,” she repeated in a tone that offered no argument.

You were still frozen when he stormed out the back door into the backyard. Benny’s hand on your arm snapped you out of it.

You looked around to see your whole extended family silent—the first time that had ever happened in your life.

Your grandmother was shaking her head in the direction of your brother. Your cousins were either staring at you in concern or trying their hardest to look anywhere but at you. Your stomach dropped.

Everyone had heard it. Of course everyone had heard it, your brother’s outburst could probably have been heard next door.

“Honey…” Benny cooed as if he were trying to calm a scared horse.

You pushed back your chair and were out of your seat in seconds, rushing to the bathroom and away from the judging eyes of your family.

All at once, you were reminded of why you’d gone to Florida in the first place. Where family could be a large comfort, it could also be someone’s biggest burden.

You silently yearned for the smell of Mari’s kitchen, the howl of Santi’s laughter, Everett’s faux-sever expression. You even missed Will, no matter how deep his words had cut you.

It was only when you heard the quiet hum of conversation from the other room begin again that you allowed yourself to cry.

- - -

Quinn’s knuckles were scraped when you came back.

He was hunched over a cup of coffee in the same spot that he’d been before the fight, and Benny was nowhere to be found.

Oh shit, was your first thought.

Your mother looked severe as she talked to your father on the other side of the room. Most of your relatives had trickled out by then, but a few aunts and cousins were still there. Monica reached you before you could walk over to your mother and ask what the hell was going on.

“Hey chickie,” she said, eyes so soft that you thought you might cry. “Your boy is waiting out in the car for ya.”

“Oh god, what happened?” You didn’t even bother to correct her calling Benny “your boy.”

“I don’t know,” Monica looked sly. “All I know is that he followed Quinn out back after you left and when Quinn came back in, he was fumin’ mad and his knuckles were cut up.”

“And Benny?”

“He looked fine.”

You sighed in relief, before shaking your head.

“He’s so stupid.” You huffed. “I told him not to get involved.”

“It’s kind of romantic,” Monica offered. “He looked scary when Quinnie called you a bitch.”

You snorted, imagining what his face must have looked like in your head.

“Well,” you said. “Damage control is gonna be a bitch.”

When you got to the car, Benny looked even more severe than your mother.

He was resting one hand against the wheel, and the other on his tapping knee. His brows were drawn together in what looked more like frustration than confusion. It was that look you recognized from when he lost a fight—defeat and barely restrained anger.

You shut the car door with a click before turning your whole body to look at him.

“Did Quinn hit you?”

Benny chuckled at the idea.

“He tried,” he said, finally turning to look at you.

When he did, all anger was gone from his face. His eyes were gentle, albeit a little cocky. His hair fell messily over his forehead and his eyes looked almost sea-green in the olive pull-over he wore.

You raised an eyebrow.

“He tried?”

“Yeah, kid’s got shit reflexes,” he added before turning the key in the ignition.

“What happened?”

“Well,” Benny sighed, maneuvering the car out of the driveway and beginning to drive. “After what he decided to spew back there, he and I had a little talk out back. Don’t think he liked what I had to say.”

“Jesus christ, Benny.” You rubbed your eyes, staring blankly at the road. “What did you say?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he said. “I handled it.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” you ground out.

It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful for what he did; you were. Too much, even.mThe truth of the matter was that you’d never had anyone stick up for you before—at least to your family. At the same time, though, you and Benny still had to stay another night with said family, and now you had to do damage control.

“I know, honey. And I know it wasn’t my place, but someone had to say something. And no one in there was going to.”

You sighed. How the hell were you supposed to argue with that?

“I know,” you conceded quietly, blinking away tears that you weren’t sure were out of frustration or sadness.

“Let’s go home,” he said, turning at a green light. “We can go to bed early. You don’t have to deal with this.”

“Yes, I do, Benny.”

“You don’t—”

“I do,” you pushed. “You don’t understand. If I don’t deal with this and I leave it until I come back, it’s just gonna fester. That’s always how it is. So I’ve gotta fix this before I fuck it up more than–”

You stopped yourself, realizing mid-sentence that the words you were going to say were the exact words Will had said weeks before.

You sighed.

“I just have to fix it.”

“‘More than you already have?’” Benny asked softly, too softly. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

You remained silent and kept your eyes on the road outside the passenger-side window. You refused to look at him, knowing that if you did, you’d break.

“Honey…”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Ben.”

“But–”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Your voice was tight.

You were both silent the rest of the drive home.

- - - -

It went as well as you could have expected once they all got home.

Quinn didn’t return, instead choosing to stay his last night in town at your cousin’s house. Your father said it was for the best, and you couldn’t help but agree.

He was the easiest to handle. You’d expected it. He wasn’t happy that you’d “antagonized” Quinn, as he put it, but he knew that Quinn was the one who took it too far in the end.

“You know your brother,” he’d said. “He’s got a big head and an even bigger temper.”

Your mother was the real one you had to pacify.

She was silent when she got home, which was always a bad sign. If your mother wasn’t talking about something, someone was in trouble. After about an hour of back and forth, you’d agreed to disagree.

She thought you were in the wrong, but in the end agreed that Quinn shouldn’t have blown-up, and that he definitely shouldn’t have swung at Benny. That was as good as it would get, you knew. So, it would have to be enough.

More than anything, you couldn’t wait to get home. Your real home; the shitty apartment in the noisiest part of town that you shared with Salem and sometimes Benny.

Benny.

You hadn’t talked to him since you’d gotten home. He’d disappeared back to his trundle in the basement, saying he wanted to “give you space.”

By the time you went to bed, he still hadn’t shown himself, and you suppressed the ache in your chest at having to go to sleep in an empty bed.

You’d lasted maybe two hours before you couldn’t toss and turn any longer.

Yawning, you made your way down the creaky stairs for a glass of water and, hopefully, something to eat. You also pondered what must have been going through Benny’s head.

He was done, you were sure. The crazy dysfunction of your family mixed with the way you had shut down earlier must have been the final nail in the coffin.

As you filled your glass with water, you frantically went through ways that you could convince him to stay. You already knew you wouldn’t survive his absence from your life.

A set of heavy footsteps interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to see who you already knew was Benny in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed only in boxers and a henley. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyes were bleary.

For a moment, you both stood there in silence, holding your breath, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“I–”

“Listen–”

You both began at the same time, before stopping and awkwardly chuckling.

“Sorry,” you said lamely, and Benny took a nervous breath.

He took a step toward you tentatively and you sharply inhaled.

You knew what this was, what this looked like. He was preparing to let you down gently. You felt your stomach drop.

“Ben–”

“No please,” he took your hands, which stayed limp in his own. “I have to say this.”

“But–”

“Just let me get this out, honey,” he said softly. “Please.”

And, how could you say no to that?

You nodded melancholically.

“I need you to know something,” he swallowed. “And you probably won’t like it—hell, I know you won’t like it—but I don’t care. Honey, I am sick of you.”

Your heart lurched and your bottom lip wobbled. He couldn’t even look you in your eyes, his own big green ones still trained on the floor.

“And—”

“Ben, please don’t do this.” You hardly recognize your voice. Your chin wobbled and your throat closed up as you held back the tears.

“---What?”

“I know I’ve been–been difficult, and this trip has been utter hell, but please don’t.”

“I–honey, what?”

“Ben, please don’t leave.”

“I—” his hands were on your face all of a sudden, urgent and firm, angling it so your forehead was pressed against his.

“God, no, honey,” Benny’s voice sounded utterly appalled. Frantic, even.

When he saw your wrecked expression, he furrowed his eyebrows and pressed a firm kiss to your lips without thought. You barely had time to react before he was pulling back, pressing more to your cheeks and eyelids.

“No, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not without you, anyway. That’s–that’s not it.”

“But you said you were sick of me–”

“Sick of you tryin’ to do things on your own, honey,” Benny sounded exasperated, chuckling a bit before pressing a kiss to your forehead. His hands still held your cheeks.

“I am sick of you trying to do this all on your own. And pushing me away when I try to help you. You are there for everyone, And when I try to be there even a little bit, you won’t have it.”

“That’s not,” you sighed.

“It is.” Benny interrupted you. “I saw it this week with Rosie and the others too. It’s like you have this idea in your head that we’re gonna, like, have a ‘come to Jesus’ moment and leave you one day.”

You were at a loss for words, so you stayed silent as he continued.

“Well I’m not. I’m here, and I’m going to care about you on purpose.”

Your chin wobbled at the declaration, sniffing like a child. You were embarrassed of all the times you’d broken down into tears in the past week, but now you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when Benny sighed and pulled you into his chest.

“It’s okay, honey.” He cooed. “I’m here on purpose, I’m not going to leave.”

And this time, when he said it, you began to believe him.